On Satptami this year, I was traveling for work and checking with friends and family in Kolkata on how they were spending the day. The irony of high heat and thunderstorms during puja back home contrasted with the piercing blue sky and the pleasant fall weather where I was that day. People there in the puja state of mind but nature most definitely was not. It was exactly in inverse for me. There were several hours of daylight left when I landed so I took a walk around downtown and got some food. On my walk, I passed a desi street-food place. For a minute I paused, wondering if anyone inside knew or remembered what day it was. A quick scan of the place proved it was business as usual for everyone - there would be no way to dip into the nostalgia that I was feeling.
I missed the place and time that no longer exists - this has been the nature of my longing for my roots. Something, I was always told happens to people as they grow older. I like someone missing a long deceased loved one. You go over the scraps and shreds of memory over and over. They get frayed from overuse and you realize you don't have as many as you would like. Those tattered bits are all you have left and you best find a way to make them last the days. There is no one and nothing to return to and yet the heart craves what it cannot have. I experience this feeling with the highest intensity during puja. That evening after I returned to the hotel, I discovered a complimentary brownie in my room - it was seriously decadent and such a wonderful surprise. That brownie made up for all the mishti I cannot have this year.
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